Chapter Six
LOST THINGS
The novices at Yinmi Monastery had a game they played to frighten newcomers as they lay on their pallets in the dark, missing their homes and families. They had memorised the many dungeons in the sixteen realms of hell.
“Which would you rather endure?” they asked. “The dungeon where you must kneel forever on bamboo splinters, or the dungeon where you are forced to drink liquid dung?”
As the night progressed, the tortures they described grew worse.
“Would you rather the dungeon where you have to walk across five-pronged forks, or the one where demons scrape your flesh from your bones?”
They reserved the worst till last.
“Would you rather the dungeon where your brain is removed from your skull and replaced by a hedgehog, or the one where crows peck out your heart and lungs?”
By that time the new novices were either sobbing or screaming. When the monks came to see what the noise was about, the older boys feigned sleep.
Tao wasn’t a bad person. He wouldn’t be going to one of the worst realms of hell. But he remembered from those night-time stories that the entrance to the first realm of hell was very dark. There was a special place in that hell for monks who had done bad things – a dark dungeon called the Puqingshuo where devils with black and red faces suspended bad monks by their feet for all eternity. Tao knew what his sins were. First he had broken every one of the novices’ precepts. Then he had abandoned his vows. Finally, he hadn’t given a thought about offering prayers for the dead in the cave. When he had realised it was a grave, he had been concerned only for himself, too busy thinking about his own discomfort to consider his duty. Now he was paying for that neglect.
The souls of the dead villagers had become ghosts, hungry ghosts. Lost and angry, they had not passed into their next lives. They were lingering, longing to get revenge for their violent deaths, for their inadequate burial, for the lack of prayers to send them into their next life. They had latched on to Tao, the person who had ignored their silent plea for release, and pushed him into the mouth of hell. They blamed him, and he deserved their blame. He should have prayed for them. Unless he corrected this error, he would continue his journey in darkness until he reached the Puqingshuo.
He called out to Kai with his mind, but there was no response. If he could just get back into the world, he could put everything right. But how could he do that? Perhaps he could summon a vision, despite the darkness. He reached for his bag. He felt around him. All he could feel was his water skin over his shoulder. The ghosts had taken his bag. He couldn’t attempt to call up a vision without the mixture of sesame oil and safflower. They had taken back the bronze bowl Kai found in the village, and with it all his other possessions. Those things could be replaced; even the vial of yellow oil was replaceable, if he could ever find a place in Huaxia where such treasures as safflower and sesame oil still existed. But there was one thing in his bag that could never be replaced – the shard of dragon stone. The shard was precious to him, and he had only just begun to understand that it had powers of its own.
His ancestor Ping had used the dragon-stone shard to help her find lost things. After centuries, that precious tool had found its way to Tao. And what had he done with it? His frozen lips bent into a bitter smile. He had lost it! Even without ghosts to steal from him, he had always been good at losing things. He needed Kai. But he had lost the dragon as well. He remembered that you were permitted to take nothing with you into the realms of hell, nothing but the sins you committed. That explained why the ghosts had taken his possessions.
There was no use lamenting the loss of the shard. It was gone. He had nothing to aid him. Then he remembered. There was one thing that he still had. One thing that the ghosts could never take from him. He had Wei’s qi – all of it – his brother’s dying gift. Tao still didn’t have a clue what his qi power was, but whatever its form, it might be useful to him now. He searched within, trying to locate the knot of Wei’s qi inside him. It was small, no bigger than a peach stone, but he knew that it was concentrated enough to last him one lifetime at least if he was careful and didn’t squander it. He needed it now. If he died in that cold, dark hole, then Wei had sacrificed his life for nothing. He searched inside himself. He made a promise to the ghosts. If he ever got out of the darkness, he would offer prayers for them. He would make a proper memorial to their passing.
Tao located Wei’s qi. It was in his heart. Of course. Where else would it be? But it was frozen solid, like a large hailstone. He needed to thaw it out. He tried to think of something warming. He remembered his dear brother, who had never been able to walk or speak. They’d experienced many happy times together when they were young. But Tao’s brain was frozen as well. He couldn’t recall a single image of their shared childhood. Not an image of his brother’s face, so like his own, and yet so different.
A holy thought then. There had been times when, deep in meditation, he had felt the radiance of Buddha shining on him like sunlight. He recalled one of those moments, but the Blessed One’s glow didn’t reach him. It was as if he were watching himself from behind a sheet of ice. An image flashed into his mind. Not of his brother. Not of the glory of Buddha. Not of a brush swollen with ink creating a perfect character on a fresh page. It was Pema. Pema the wild nomad girl. He remembered the touch of her lips on his cheek before she had turned and walked away into her own future. That unholy happiness was not what he had been seeking, but it was exactly what he needed. The spot on his cheek burned hot.
The warmth spread in a rush of pleasure and guilt. His heart started to thaw a little. So did Wei’s qi. A thin strand of it began to flow, slowly like honey in winter, gradually moving into his limbs. The ghost fingers fell away.
He hurt all over, but none of his bones had broken in the fall. And at least he wasn’t numb. He could see nothing, but he was no longer afraid of the dark. His hand touched something smooth and wooden. It was his staff. He used it to struggle to his feet. His instinct was to crawl back up the slope he had fallen down, but the qi flowed to his legs and his feet turned him round. He walked in the opposite direction along another tunnel, further away from the cave where they had entered the mountain. He didn’t resist. He had to find Kai. And with his brother’s help he could do it.
He focused his mind and spoke to Kai with his thoughts. Where are you? There was no reply. Tao still couldn’t see, but his other senses were beginning to thaw. He could hear water dripping. He could feel the whisper of air that Kai had mentioned. He took tiny steps, his staff held out to alert him to any obstacles. He felt more of the huge icicles hanging from the cave ceiling and protruding from the cave floor. They were thick and slippery with moisture, but now that his body had thawed, he realised they were not as icy cold as he had thought. He licked his fingers. They were wet with water that tasted of minerals. He realised that they were made of rock, not ice.
Tao could hear a faint sound in his mind. It reminded him of his father sharpening his wood-carving tools on a stone. The sound grew a little louder. It was mixed with the low toll of a cracked bell. Tao moved towards it. He felt his way through this strange forest of stone. He could hear water dripping from the ceiling. He felt the drips on his face and hands. He was beginning to understand the world of the blind.
His foot struck something soft. He heard a different sound. “Ooof.” And there was a new smell. A faint whiff of salty fish mixed with plums on the turn.
“Kai.” He kneeled down and ran his hands over the dragon’s scales as if they were smooth and soft, like satin, not rough and scratchy. “Are you hurt?”
“Frozen.” The dragon’s voice was faint in his head.
Tao felt the shape of the dragon’s great body. He was lying coiled in a knot, his nose buried beneath his back paws, his tail drawn up through the centre of the coil.
“Hungry ghost,” the dragon whispered.
“It’s okay, Kai. The ghosts won’t hurt us.”
“
Trip. Freeze.”
“Yes, but they did this to us because they want us to help them into their next life.”
Though dragons had no religion, Tao knew that Kai had more faith in the old beliefs than in the words of Buddha. He didn’t believe that after death a creature’s soul moved into a different body and began another life. He believed that the souls of the dead lingered near their graves. If these souls didn’t get offerings of food and a comfortable place to spend their afterlife, they would turn into hungry ghosts. They would punish whoever they thought was responsible for neglecting them. That’s what the people of Huaxia had believed before they were shown the way of Buddha.
“Underworld,” Kai said.
“I thought I had fallen into the realms of hell. But we are not in the underworld, just lost in a cave. If we promise to fulfil the wishes of the dead from the ruined village, they will let us go. We cannot help them while we are trapped in this place. They know that.”
“Not many ghosts. Only one. Gu Hong.”
Kai had spoken about this dragon before. She was an old one who had died while Kai was still at the dragon haven. This was no time to debate religious differences, no time to press him to follow the way of the Blessed One. If Kai believed he had been visited by the ghost of a dead dragon, then that was what Tao would use to convince him to move.
He felt for Kai’s ears and stroked them. They were small and unscaled, velvety to touch. The dragon’s breath grew more even.
“What is it that Gu Hong’s ghost wants from you?”
“She wants me to accept my responsibility, to tend her grave and lead the dragons.”
“As soon as we return to our own world we will pray for her and honour her as an elder. You must promise that you will lead the dragons as she wished. Then, when we eventually reach the dragon haven, we will make a commemoration for her, ensure that offerings are made and the dragons speak her name so she is never forgotten.”
Tao felt Kai pull his nose out from under his paws. “Cannot see,” the dragon said.
“That’s because the effects of the bat droppings have worn off. Use your other senses, Kai. I can feel that draught of air you mentioned. We must find its source.”
Tao could hear the scratchy sound of the dragon nodding in agreement.
“That’s it.” He tickled the dragon below his chin.
Kai got up onto all four paws.
“Can you feel the draught?”
“Cannot.”
“Let me lead you.”
Tao took hold of the dragon’s beard and gently led him into the darkness. With his other hand he held his staff before him to find a path through the stone icicles. He still bumped his head and stubbed his toes, but he did himself no harm. Kai followed. The drips of water were more numerous now. They were finding their way towards each other and forming a trickle.
The ghostly fingers no longer had hold of him, but Tao could feel icy breath on his face, so he knew the ghosts were still with them. His body was bruised, his legs heavy and slow. The darkness threatened to wear down his new resolve, to chip away at his confidence, but he withstood it, fortified by the qi within him and the memory of his brother’s smile. Then he thought he saw a faint green glow, but he was sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. The sound of trickling water was getting louder. He rubbed his eyes, which were heavy and tired from straining to see through the darkness, but the glow was still there, faint as the light from a flame consuming the last drop of lamp oil.
“Do you see anything, Kai? I can see a glow. Is it real?”
“I see it too.”
Then Tao felt space open up around him. He couldn’t see its extremities, but he was sure they had entered a cavern. As they walked towards the light, Tao knew it couldn’t be daylight, but he wasn’t afraid. The sound of flowing water was growing louder. Then he caught his breath as he saw the source of the greenish glow. All those trickles of water had run together to form a lake. They reached the edge of the underground lake. Tao could see that it contained many thousands of specks of light.
“What are they?”
“Perhaps they are tiny creatures,” Kai suggested.
Tao looked closer. The specks of light were darting around. The light they gave off was very faint, but it illuminated the greenish water. After so long in darkness, his eyes drank it in.
He turned to the dragon and smiled. “It is good to be able to see you again, Kai, even though you are faint.”
Tao could make out the outline of the cavern. It was huge. But that wasn’t the wonder of it. He could see the stone icicles that he had only felt before. Hundreds of them hung from the cave roof around the edge of the lake, glowing palest green, like eerie decorations for an underworld festivity. Others grew upwards from the cave floor. Tao and Kai stood in silence, listening to the liquid sound of trickling water echo around the cavern. This was not one of the realms of hell. It was more like a fairy world.
Tao suddenly realised how thirsty he was. He’d emptied his water skin long before.
“Do you think the water is safe to drink?”
Kai dipped a talon into the green water and let a drop fall onto his tongue. “It tastes like the green pool at the dragon haven. It will not harm you, but it might make you sleepy.”
“That’s okay,” Tao said. “Water and rest are what I need most.”
They both drank from the pool. It was cold but it didn’t chill Tao. He found a dry place at the edge of the cave. There was a thin layer of moss, brought there by some animal. He lay down. It was like lying on a bed of silk floss.
Chapter Seven
DAYLIGHT
Tao woke. He had slept soundly, for how long he couldn’t tell. Kai was still snoring. He knew exactly where he was. He was trapped in an eerie green underground cavern, with his only friend in the world, and he’d eaten nothing for a long time. Yet Tao felt confident that everything would work out well. He’d had no nightmares, just one dream where he was in his own bed at his family home, covered by a thick quilt of silk floss pulled right up to his chin.
As he lay there remembering the childhood comfort and warmth, he realised the feeling was not fading. He still felt that delicious warmth, though he knew his blanket was lost with all his other possessions.
As if he had read his thoughts, Kai suddenly let out a cry. It was not one Tao was familiar with. It was a shrill sound, like the clash of small cymbals.
“Beetles!” the dragon said.
Tao opened his eyes. He was covered, but not by a blanket or a quilt. He sucked in a breath. He was covered from chin to toe in beetles – hundreds of them. Each beetle was about the length of his little finger, shiny black with white markings. They were all waving their antennae, which were striped with black-and-white bars and almost twice the length of their bodies. Tao felt strangely calm, not repulsed as he might have expected. He let out his breath and the beetles opened their wings and took off. They flew together in a cloud over the lake.
“Did they bite you? Were you terrified?” Kai didn’t like beetles.
“No. They were friendly.”
“How do you know?”
“I could tell.”
Tao got to his feet and carefully brushed off two or three beetles that had been reluctant to leave.
“We must find our way out from under this mountain.” Kai’s stomach made a loud growling sound. “Or we will starve to death.”
Tao watched the last beetles fly off into the darkness. “I think we should follow them.”
It was Tao who saw it first as he kneeled at the lake’s edge and filled his water skin. Kai was still drowsy. Something glittered in a recess of the cave wall. It was different to the green glimmer of the lake, so he knew it wasn’t a pool of water. Tao went over to it. He couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Kai, come and look.”
It was a pile of treasure. A mound of precious things. Tao could see a gold necklace and a finely carved jade pendant.
“Some rich person must hav
e hidden all his wealth here, so that the nomads couldn’t find it.”
“Or it might be the hiding place of a thief,” Kai suggested.
Among the precious objects, there were things of little value – a length of blue ribbon, a piece of broken pottery with a pretty pattern, an iridescent bird’s feather. Kai peered closer. He took something from the pile.
“I do not think a thief would bother to steal this.” It was a worn shoe.
Tao picked up a lump of black crystalline rock.
“Let me see that,” Kai said.
He held it up against the glow of the lake. It was not a single crystal, but a clump of smaller crystals. They were not symmetrical and polished like gems, but irregular shapes and dull. As he stared at the crystal in the dragon’s paw, Tao began to distinguish some colour in it.
“It isn’t black. It’s more of a very deep red.”
“I know what this is,” Kai said. “It is cinnabar.”
Tao took the crystal from him. “Is it?”
The dragon nodded. “But how did it get here?”
“It doesn’t matter how it got here. Remember the glowing red embers in my vision? It was telling me we would find cinnabar here. I wasn’t clever enough to work it out.”
He handed the cinnabar to Kai. “You keep it safe. I’m afraid I’ll lose it. I lose everything.”
The dragon put the crystal behind his largest reverse scale. It was a tight fit.
“Perhaps it was a gift from the ghost of Gu Hong.”